Kirkwall Academy
by Matok
Summary: High School AU. When Hawke is one frustrating art credit short of graduating, she finds herself in a class taught by a man with strange tattoos and haunted eyes. Mature content. Updated weekly (generally).
1. Chapter 1

Kirkwall Academy

_Meetings_

Fine arts. Hawke stared at her desk with a slightly put off scowl. All she wanted was to exploit all the avenues of the science curriculum Kirkwall Academy had to offer, be carted off to medical school, and eventually (hopefully) become a doctor.

But apparently,_ apparently_, fine arts credits were a mandatory requirement on her transcript. She must have argued with Meredith the better part of an hour, but the vice principal wouldn't budge; under no circumstances could she be exempt from a fine arts course...

And the course happened to be Latin. No ceramics, no watercolors, and only ten other students in the class, none of whom she was familiar with. Latin was one of the few classes to be dual certified, both a language and an art. And, as luck would have it, the only fine art class with room left.

_Latin. Unbelievable. So much for dead languages..._

No, Hawke was not pleased that day as she stood in the empty classroom, and the absence of her instructor was really just making things worse. This 'Fenris' was new, she was made aware, and he was very late.

* * *

Fenris was difficult to deal with on the best of days, and this had most certainly not been a good day.

His decades old Volvo had died halfway to the academy, and frankly, he did not have the means to afford repairs. After getting the car towed, he took the bus and people had _stared_, gawking and whispering while he tried vainly to ignore them. They always did, but it never stopped the wave of shame and irrational anger that came with the blatant gazes of strangers.

As he strode into his classroom, opening the door with one hand and shuffling through the mail an office aid had squeaked and thrown at him, he looked up to see a woman fidgeting next to his dark wooden desk.

Lovely. Now he was hallucinating.

But... no, not a woman. A girl, a senior by the height and, ah, womanly qualities he could see. Fenris quirked an eyebrow, and set his messenger bag onto his desk.

He waited a beat for her to speak but she stayed silent, head bent down over a book. Fenris huffed, too frustrated to be polite and too exasperated to even realize the consequences of how he spoke.

"If you wish to tell me something, now would be an appropriate time. Or continue to stand there, if it so pleases you," he growled.

Hawke's head snapped up. A man with silver hair was speaking to her (rather rudely, actually), and it took her a full second to realize that _he_ was her teacher.

The first thing she noticed about him was the beautiful, horrifying display of his white tattoos. They matched his hair and contrasted with his caramel skin, and... Hawke wished she wasn't alone with him in this suddenly too secluded classroom, because she couldn't control the blush that sprung to her face almost immediately.

He was certainly too young to be a teacher. Had to be. Attractiveness aside, he had no business in being so rude. "My name is Hawke. I need credits in Fine Arts, and your class is... the only one with vacancy," she finished lamely.

Fenris straightened, blinking at the grey eyed girl.

He sighed inwardly, then. He needed this job, and being discourteous to students was a surefire way to be released from his position.

She was nervous. He couldn't blame her; Fenris knew he was intimidating, and his sour mood and scowl did not help his case.

"Is there a first name to accompany that?" he asked, only a bit dryly.

Hawke's brows furrowed and she crossed her arms. "I might be mistaken, but you're a teacher. With access to files and things. You can look it up; I go by Hawke." He stared at her, blankly as far as she knew. Who could tell what he hid behind those eyes, impossibly green and harder than stone.

Fenris ground his teeth but said nothing. If she did not wish to go by her first name, it was not his place to question it. He, of all people, knew the importance of a name.

"What does the class entail, anyway? I thought Latin was a bit... Archaic."

Hawke shifted and Fenris realized he had been staring at her for an unusually long time.

The class, right.

"Many consider it archaic, true." He began to unpack his things for the coming day, a familiar task that put him at ease. "Latin I is credited as a fine art," he started slowly, "but we are already half-way through the first quarter. Latin is difficult, and you will be behind."

Hawke frowned and leaned her hip against his desk. "I have an excellent GPA, and even better work ethic, Mr. Argent. I'll prove myself in this class, I'll..."

Fenris was fiddling with a fountain pen, frown firmly in place and attention obviously averted from her. His eyes were squinted and focused, his hair falling haphazardly over his forehead.

_He looks much younger like that_, she thought, biting her lip slightly. He deliberated another few seconds and Hawke rolled her eyes. She plucked the pen from his grasp. "The inkwell's jammed. Here," she handed it back to him after a moment of adjusting.

Fenris quirked his lips, displeasure fading as his encounter with Hawke continued. She was... unlike the other students at Kirkwall Academy that he had encountered thus far. "Thank you," he murmured.

She smiled and Fenris found he did not know what to say.

"The class you would want to join takes place sixth hour. I assume you have cleared your schedule already. As there are only nine other students in Latin, I would suggest befriending them. You will need help."

Hawke fought the urge to cringe. She shuddered to think about all the... interesting people she would meet in Mr. Argent's class. Hawke had never felt the need to be social in school, there was too much to do, too much to focus on; academics required her absolute attention, always.

Even Carver was more popular among his peers.

He walked to the bookshelf and pulled out a worn blue textbook.

"Here. Take this."

She accepted the book and nodded. "Friends, got it." Hawke fingered the corner of the cover, chancing another look up at her new teacher. He was really, well, something else. "Is there anything else Mr. Argent?"

Fenris watched Hawke's face fall slightly at the mention of friends. It was strange that such a pretty girl would be alone at Kirkwall. He wondered absently why, but said nothing.

"Fenris," he said suddenly. "Call me Fenris. If you can go by your last name, it seems only fair I may go by my first."

Hawke was taken back slightly at his command. "Fenris," she repeated back. He looked at her as she said it, stony eyes flicking down her length and up again. She was ashamed to admit her breath caught in her throat, just a little.

The moment stretched on in silence, weighing heavily but not unpleasantly. "That's an interesting name," she said at last, trying in vain to be conversational.

He only grunted in response. Hawke was studying him now, tracing the whirls of his tattoos with dark eyes and roving over his disheveled white hair.

The last thing he wanted to do was discuss his past with this strange new girl.

"Yours is a strange name as well," he commented, back turned as he wrote the day's agenda on the board.

"Ah, well," she stammered, "I'm just... I don't like my first name. But I'm the only one in my family who goes by it."

Fenris had some really nice shoulders. And waist. And the tattoos on his skin became less garish and more appealing the longer she looked at them.

Hawke realized then: she was in trouble.

She made her way to the door, but paused before leaving.

"Latin. How hard can it be?"

She heard what might have been a huff of amusement as the door clicked behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The only person he would sit next to in the teacher's lounge was Aveline. Mrs. Vallen was a world history teacher and also coached half of Kirwall Academy's sports teams. Fenris enjoyed her company, mostly because she let him set the pace of conversation and never stared for too long.

Fenris walked up to the rounded table overlooking the school's beautifully manicured courtyard. This school for the gifted- intellectually or financially- was nothing if not impressive. Large windows filled the room with light, and Aveline's red hair shone.

Paper bag in hand, he took the chair to her right and sat down.

"Good afternoon, Aveline."

"Fenris," she greeted, scooting over to accommodate the tattooed man. She sat in front of a healthy spread of soup, sandwich halves and fruit, paired with a tall thermos of hot cocoa. "Donnic's really been on a health kick lately," she said, "Replaced my sourdough with whole grain. Convinced too much white flour will rot the baby's brain."

Fenris' scowl softened when Aveline mentioned Donnic and her child on the way.

They were good people. A family in truth. Aveline had invited him into her home many a time, and she was one of the few people he trusted and called friend. Not that he'd ever said as much out loud.

"How much longer, now?" He asked, stirring the coffee he'd made as he stared down at his overpriced sandwich.

"I'm four blighted months along, but it might as well be ten. Haven't been able to train for weeks, and Donnic's driving me up a wall with all this baby book nonsense." Aveline smiled fondly as she picked up a half of her sandwich. "But this is the grand adventure, I suppose. How is class going? Start of the new year can be difficult. Getting on well with your students?"

Fenris returned her smile. 'Coach' as the kids called her spoke of her life with an ease he envied.

"Classes are going as well as can be expected. Dead languages are not known for being exciting, after all," he joked weakly.

"No? I thought you had hoards of students just fighting to get into your class," Aveline deadpanned followed by a small chuckle.

He took another sip of coffee before continuing. "A new student enrolled in Latin I, although it was not her choice."

She bit into her sandwich with vigor. "What's the new girl like? Anyone I'd know?"

"She goes by Hawke. Pre-med minded I would guess, obviously driven. You know the type I am sure."

_Curious, bright eyes streaked with sadness; a story left unfinished._

Aveline raised her eyebrows. "Hawke? I have the younger Hawke on my sophomore wrestling team. Carver- that kid's got a mean half Nelson, and a heft of potential if he'd stop getting into fights."

She wiped her chin a moment before continuing. "I did some traveling with their mother some years back. Back when their father was about. He was a good man, a doctor. Died before he got to see his children grown."

Fenris stared into his coffee, swirling it slowly as his mind raced.

"That is unfortunate," he said after a pause too long to be called comfortable, even with the infallible Aveline listening.

"Do you know anything else of Hawke?"

Aveline nodded and her face fell subtly. "Used to be an energetic one, a real ankle biter. She got peculiar after high school started though. Hellbent on becoming a doctor. Leandra and I don't talk much anymore, but Hawke always wanted to follow in her father's footsteps."

She picked up her sandwich and took a bite, cringing slightly. "Whole wheat, tch. Well, that's what I know, anyway."

Fenris nodded, staring out the window and eating quietly.

"Is she close to any of the other students? Latin is small class, but she seems almost a stranger to them."

"Couldn't say. All the Hawkes run a bit odd. I know she and her brother rarely speak unless necessary. Honestly, I'm not sure how those two do it," she remarked quietly, finishing off the last bite of her sandwich and starting on the soup.

"What, ah, happened?" He probed carefully. Fenris did not like asking too many personal questions about anyone, but something about Hawke made him forget himself.

He _wanted _to know.

Aveline was silent for a moment. She set down her soup and gave Fenris a _look_. "That's right, you arrived after it happened. Carver had a twin, Bethany. Sweet girl- she died her freshman year, just after the start of the semester. A genetic disease, can't remember the name of it."

Fenris nodded, his voice falling as the weight of the words struck. "She has lost much for one so young."

Aveline shrugged slightly. "The Hawke's are nothing if not resilient. At least, that's how Leandra was: such a fighter. I have faith in them."

Fenris took a final bite of his own sandwich and found he had lost his appetite. Knowing what he now knew about Hawke's life, he felt as if he had trespassed. It was unfair. He had taken information that was not his to ask for. Just then the bell signaling the end of lunch rang. Promising to atone later, Fenris abruptly stood and gathered his things.

"I will see you tomorrow, Aveline." He nodded and she waved, and Fenris flew out the door back to his room to think about the strange girl.

Perhaps they had more in common than he had thought.

* * *

Fenris opened the blinds of the floor length windows that ran along the side of his classroom. The language building's west classes overlooked the ocean, grey and turbulent even on the temperate autumn day. The sun shone almost blindingly off the water, and Fenris shielded his eyes before taking a moment to admire the craggy rocks and changing colors of fall.

_From one ocean to the other._ With any luck, Kirkwall would prove more of a home than any he'd had before.

Fenris turned back to his dark oak desk and sat down, thumbing through papers to be graded. He had considered requesting a TA, but in truth, he did not mind grading the work he assigned. It seemed only fair. Besides, he learned much about his students through their written assigments.

Isabela's was usually haphazardly copied, often from Merrill. Isabela was quite frustrating to Fenris, she was fairly strong in Latin, but put in painfully little effort.

Merrill's work was often interlaced with doodles and random notes from other classes, as scattered as she was.

Sebastian almost never spoke in class, but his translations were always impeccable. Fenris attributed that to his theological background, but the boy was naturally gifted to be sure.

The first bell rang and Fenris' eyes flickered up, accidentally catching the new desk he had dragged into class earlier.

Hawke. The girl with a first name she did not like and eyes to cunning for her own good. Fenris was...intrigued by her. The way she carried herself and looked at him so frankly was unlike most academy students he'd experienced.

He wondered absently what her work would look like.

Just then, the first students walked in.

* * *

Hawke frowned at her reworked schedule, crumbling the paper in her hands as she made her way through the throngs of students clogging up the Fine Arts Hall of the language building. She had Latin as her final period of the day, courtesy of her _considerate_ guidance counselor, who assumed it would be convenient for her to stay there after school should she fall behind in the Latin curriculum.

Hawke grit her teeth. She had confided her apprehension of Fenris to Varric, only to be repaid by being shoved into the longest and most uncomfortable class period ever with him. Why was sixth period five minutes longer than the rest of them? What function did that serve?

Students passed her by, mostly seniors and juniors, all of them absorbed in their conversations and their agendas. They talked freely, laughed, and they radiated a sense camaraderie and ease that was totally lost on Hawke.

How could anyone get anything of importance when they were so immersed in their social lives? Hawke figured, with some arrogance, that they weren't reaching for the heights she aspired to, that their academic careers couldn't have been as important as hers. They seemed trivial- all of it seemed trivial.

She had to make sacrifices in order to achieve what was necessary. Forgoing a social life was only a small price to pay; Val Royeaux was the only thing that mattered now. Her father had never had the money to attend, Bethany dreamed of going, and now she was going to do it.

Hawke was ready to do anything it took to reach her goal. Even if that meant stomaching a whole period of Latin with a teacher who already didn't like her and a textbook full of ancient, confusing gibberish. When she reached room 316 Hawke steeled herself for what she anticipated to be an unpleasant last period.

As her hand reached for the handle, the door swung open onto a tanned and barely contained set of breasts, which bounced just under Hawke's nose.

"Well if it isn't our newest Latin student," Isabela purred.

She sidled closer to Hawke, out the door and into the hall till she was practically touching her. "I've seen you around, sweet thing. Hawke right?"

Hawke stiffened. Isabela was widely known throughout school as a- what had Carver called her? 'Ginormous slut' were his words, she thought. Isabela looked the part well enough. Her uniform shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a cheeky red camisole and the black lace trim of her bra. Hawke knew her name for a different reason, however. Isabela had been one of the only other students to take multi-variable calculus with her, and she had absolutely wrecked the curve with her consistent high A's. Math scholarship, Hawke would guess, far smarter than people gave her credit for.

Even so, Isabela seemed sweet in nature, if overzealous, and totally unconcerned by Hawke's cold appraisal of her. "Yes," she answered. "Sorry I'm late."

"Mmm, don't sweat it sweetie."

Isabela's fingers danced up Hawke's arm. "Looks like you've got a stick up your ass that goes for miles. Care for some," she paused, coming closer, "help working it out?"

This was escalating quickly, she couldn't help but notice. Hawke was about to shake off Isabela's wandering hands when a petite girl trotted up to her other side. "A stick? Isn't that very painful- are you alright Hawke?"

Hawke looked down at the pixie-like student and tried to place her face, all the while attempting to peel Isabela from her arm. Merron, Mary... she just couldn't remember. "I'm fine, thanks," she said dryly, directed at both girls who were crowded in quite uncomfortably. "I'd just... Like to get to my seat, of that's alright."

"Suit yourself, offer still stands." With a saucy wink, Isabela took Merrill into the class, and Hawke followed.

The girls took their seats, and most of the class was assembled.

Fenris stood in front of his students, back more rigid and eyes harder than usual. He surveyed his class, and watched as Hawke took her seat, right in front, next to Merrill and Sebastian with Isabela behind.

"Salvē, class."

"Salvē," they answered collectively.

"Today we continue translating the Aeneid."

Hawke opened her backpack and pulled out a purple folder, labeled 'Latin I' in flowing script.

He turned to the blackboard and wrote out a line, one of the first he'd learned himself.

"_Cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris Italian, fato profugus_", he spoke firmly, reciting.

He turned to face the class. "Attempt to translate. It need not be perfect."

Isabela huffed and sat forward, ignoring Fenris' instruction.

"That voice, right?" she purred into Hawke's ear.

Hawke's prior mantra 'do whatever necessary to reach Val Roueaux' was beginning to slip away, morphing into a sinking feeling in her gut. Transferring into this class was a huge mistake, she was beginning to realize; she was in way over her head.

Fenris made it sound easy, flawless, and as Isabela jibed at her, laughing in her ear, Hawke had to admit that she was right. His voice was deep and smooth; it glided over the ancient language like he was born to speak it. But he was still an emotionless prat really, especially when he turned around to glare at /her/, even though Isabela was the one making a nuisance of herself.

Persistent sense of duty won out over her growing apprehension of the curriculum and annoyance at Isabela's flirtation. Hawke began to laboriously copy down and puzzle out the Latin on the board, shifting lower in her seat as Isabela gave a husky laugh that sounded pure evil.

Sebastian finished first, reading over his answer before raising his hand.

"Sebastian."

"Translated it is, 'I sing of warfare and men at war. From the sea cost of Troy he came, forced by a cruel destiny, a fugitive.'" His brogue was thick and clear.

"Correct," he muttered. "Someone has been keeping up with the reading." His eyes flickered to Hawke unwittingly.

She cringed slightly. Sebastian's answer wasn't remotely similar to hers, and on top of that she had gotten the tenses all wrong. _ Sing, sang, it's all the same..._ she groused to herself.

Subtly erasing her answer and rewriting it correctly Hawke looked up at the board. Halfway up she met Fenris' gaze and was locked there. His eyes were green, vibrantly green, but still so dark. They bore into her, unreadable and guarded and mirroring her ineptitude back to her.

"Hawke," he snapped. "We write only in pen in this class. Can someone tell her why?"

"'Because in Latin, as in life, there is only one chance'!" Merrill chirped, her light voice adding a conflicting levity to the words.

He strode to his desk, grabbing the same fountain pen she had fixed for him a day before. He laid it on her desk and watched it roll down till Hawke caught it with bitten-down nails.

"And we do not change answers."

Hawke's face burned as the class sniggered quietly, as it Fenris calling her out was an inside joke she was not included in. She returned Fenris' glare and forced herself to calm. Learning was the only objective of the period; Hawke didn't need to be friendly or sociable with any of them- _Especially_ not Fenris.

The rest of class passed by too, too slowly, with Isabela kicking Hawke's chair from time to time (if she wasn't running her foot up the side of Hawke's calf) and Fenris gliding through the course with frustrating elegance. Hawke never rose her hand, and never contributed to the lectures, opting instead to take her notes in silence and nurse her chipped pride.

Fenris felt a twinge of regret at calling Hawke out. What tentative interest she had shown in the class and her peers died with his actions. He watched closely as she wrote with her head down.

The final bell rang and he assigned the class the readings for the night. As the student filed out he hesitated.

"Hawke. Stay."

Hawke really didn't want to stay. She had homework to get to and a mother who probably needed help with one thing or another. Leandra was always on edge unless her children were by her side, but Hawke supposed that was for good reason.

Hawke turned back from the door and faced Fenris. "Oh, right, your pen. Here." When Fenris didn't take the pen back immediately, she bristled slightly. "Did you need something?" she asked, keeping her tone straight.

Her eyes flashed like storm clouds and her voice was dry as the desert. She stood with arms akimbo and head tilted up, a position Fenris recognized as a reaction to conflict, a defense.

"I want to apologize," he started haltingly. "I...should not have expected you to know the class policies. Forgive me."

"Oh," she said, her voice a tad less acidic. Hawke hadn't expected that to come from Fenris, not when her teacher gave off such a thorny and unrelenting demeanor. For him to apologize to her felt strange, and she would have felt smug had he not looked genuinely (if only a little) expectant.

As if he really did want her forgiveness.

"I'll remember a pen tomorrow," she said finally. "If that's all?"

Curiosity overtook him. No person had made him..._wonder_ for a long time, and it was Fenris' unique brand of luck that fated him to feel this for a student.

He wanted to know all of her fears and sorrows and dreams and worries. He wasn't sure why. Fenris simply wanted.

"I heard what happened to your family," he said suddenly.

The silence that followed his question was deafening. They simply looked at each other, Fenris' face unreadable as ever, and Hawke's similarly blank.

She didn't talk about her family. It was a point she made to never speak of them, not even to them. After Malcolm had died, all the Hawke's withdrew from each other, all except Bethany, who remained as sweet and open as ever. She kept the family together, insisted on remembering their father for his brilliance and mischief and penchant for ugly sweaters. They were able to survive because of Bethany.

And then, like a dream just minutes before waking up, she was gone. Her dark eyes, her laugh, her life blinked out of existence as if it had never been. The doctors could do nothing for her.

Just like their father.

Carver and Leandra didn't even try anymore. Hawke would lose them too. It was easier not to talk, not to feel.

"I have a brother and a mother. What else is there to say?" Hawke squeezed her eyes shut against a small wave of emotion. "Why would you possibly need to know about my family?"

"There is more," he guessed; correctly, he realized when Hawke's face twisted and her hands clenched into fists.

He must have leaned in, because suddenly he could see the details of Hawke, her chipped, bitten down nails, the purple circles under her eyes and the frays on her well-worn blouse.

She was like the rain, sad and beautiful and entrancing.

"There is more," she all but spat. "But it's none of your business."

Hawke felt a stirring in her gut, one that went beyond the frustration or doubt or guilt she had been feeling lately.

It was anger, true anger. She felt it from her toes to her temples, white-hot and dark all at once. It curled around her heart, which felt like something more than a lump of dead muscle in her chest for once.

"You'd like the story, then? I'll see what I remember from their eulogies. 'Dr. Malcolm Hawke, pediatric neurologist, was a great doctor and a great father, who died before his time. He will be missed'- blah blah blah."

She stepped in closer, eyes narrowed onto Fenris whose face began to blur and contort in her eyes.

"Bethany Hawke was a brilliant girl, a beautiful girl: my little sister..." Hawke's breath hitched but she didn't care, she kept going because maybe it needed to be said. Regardless of the fact Fenris was a stranger to her, regardless of the fact that Hawke was showing her weakest side to a man who obviously cared so little. "She just turned fifteen when the hospital ran the tests, and two weeks later they put her in the ground. Dad... Was only dead a year..."

Hawke laughed bitterly and stepped away. "Pretty good story, right? Doctors couldn't even give an accurate cause of death- they didn't even know what disease got them. Apparently a hyper advanced stage of 'the blight'. Nice and cryptic."

Fenris felt something twist in his gut when she spoke. When she cried.

He did not think she knew there were tears on her cheek, or that her shoulders shook like sand in the tide.

He should not have asked. Fenris suddenly realized how utterly foolish and inapproproaite it had been for him to mention this. This had been a horrible idea, even for him, and for a man with Fenris' past that was truly saying something.

He had made a girl cry. A stranger, a student, someone he should be a friend to if not politely ignorant of.

Fenris tried to say something- _anything_- to stop her, calm her, but he was unable to think.

"Hawke I am so sorry I should not have—"

"You're right," she murmured. "You shouldn't have. I'll remember my pen for tomorrow"

Hawke hastily wiped at her tears. It was stupid of her to be swept up with the emotion, the anger Fenris presented. This was why she buried them deep in her heart under the indifference she fought so hard to keep in place.

It _hurt_.

Hawke turned on her heel and grabbed her bag, walking out of room 316 and not looking back.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_Mr. Tethras_

Hawke wandered into Varric's office at half past noon. She still thought the mandatory visits were unnecessary, even after going all this time. She passed by the front desk and gave a small smile, even though the attendant looked as cantankerous as ever.

Sometimes, it seemed hardly any time had passed at all. It could be a memory of a vacation, somewhere kind of unconventional, like a cactus farm or jelly bean factory that made Hawke feel like the whole family was still together. Around the house, her mother still kept father's things in the closet, and Hawke had kept all of Bethany's clothes. They didn't fit her, and they were dated, but...

They smelled like her. Carver didn't care, and sometimes Hawke hated him for it. They were twins, they were connected, and now Bethany was gone. Forever. Just like their dad.

"Hello, Varric. Lovely day, isn't it?"

Varric chuckled as the rain began to patter down and gestured for her to sit down.

"Fall is most certainly here, Ms. Hawke." He smiled as she sat down, sitting back in his chair and spinning idly.

"How's senior year been treating you?"

Hawke draped herself over the semi-cushioned staff chair with a huff. "I thought I was going to skirt right through it. But, evidently, all universities are requiring fine arts credits that I didn't have. Though," she flicked her eyes at Varric accusingly. "I assume you knew that."

"I'm sorry about the oversight, Hawke." He put his hands up in a perfect gesture of peaceful surrender. "Rest assured, we've fixed the flaw in our system that caused the error. We'll notify anyone whose art credit for high school isn't university certified." He looked back at her, still smiling, large 80s necklace gleaming over a dusting of chest hair, but eyes focusing almost imperceptibly. "How do you like Latin?"

"So glad you asked," she huffed, crossing her legs. Varric always had a nose for mischief and a healthy sense of boundaries- in that he knew just which ones to push in order to drive Hawke bonkers.

But she was fond of the short man. He reminded her of a pirate, all swarthy charm and veiled agendas. "Latin is awful, thanks for asking, and I'm fairly sure Fenris hates me. Lord knows I don't get on well with anything that isn't a textbook or dead."

"You seem to get along pretty well with your favorite guidance counselor," he retorted with a charming smile.

"This isn't Stockholm syndrome?" she asked back. "I show all the symptoms: delirium, unjustifiable affection for an unscrupulous figure..." She laughed as he put his hand to his chest in mock offense.

"Give it some time, Hawke." He said, expression sobering. "Same goes for Fenris. He's a prickly one but he knows his stuff."

"I just don't understand him. And I don't trust things I can't understand."

"You should give him a chance; I don't think you'd regret it."

He shifted in his chair, leaning forward to steeple his fingers together.

"You two have more in common than you think. Ah ah ah- before you ask that's all I can say."

Hawke frowned and slouched into her chair a little more. Varric seemed sincere, and she was hard pressed to find a genuinely antagonistic bone in his body, but she was still apprehensive. It was clear the tattooed man didn't like her; she had little hope of getting on good terms with him.

That, and he was horribly flippant. And broody.

_You're broody,_ she said to herself. _But you didn't used to be. _

"I plan on just running through the class with my head down. No need to cozy up to anyone who doesn't smile. Like, ever."

Varric tsked.

"That's no way to make friends Hawke. I know it's rough, but you won't regret reaching out." He leaned forward conspiratorially, "Who knows, you might even end up _having fun_. Novel concept I know."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Your idea of fun and mine probably differ," she said dryly.

Having fun… she could have fun. She was a teenager, a senior in high school; she could have fun.

But she didn't, not anymore. Not when there was progress to be made and priorities to be established. Becoming a doctor and finding a way to protect her family- that was worth pursuing.

"I thought students and teachers weren't supposed to be cohorts, anyway."

Varric threw his hands up, sitting back at Hawke's testy retort. "Easy. A good talk with someone more hip than your balding guidance counselor would do you good- that's all I'm saying. And get some sleep too, you look half-dead. Too many APs'll do that."

Hawke smiled a little. "You're not balding, and I get plenty of sleep. Four hours is plenty of sleep. Right?"

She didn't know why Varric was pushing her to befriend anyone, particularly Fenris, especially when Fenris didn't exactly desire her company. Though, if she were honest, she couldn't deny she was intrigued. And attracted. But that could be excused as hormones and lunacy, easily forgiven; what couldn't be let go was the desire to learn about him.

Hawke thought of his swirling tattoos, curling up tanned forearms and disappearing under his rolled up sleeves. He wore entirely too much black in her opinion, but somehow it suited him. Fenris had secrets behind those tattoos, behind the black and the Latin and the walled away eyes.

"Are we going to do shrinky stuff today? I'd rather just read in your pleasant and companionable silence. Or nap. Can I nap until lunch?"

"I'll let you go early, since I'm a reasonable fellow."

She started to get up but he stopped her.

"Ah-ah not so fast. There's a catch. At lunch tomorrow I don't want to see you in the library. And don't think you can hole up in the ladies bathroom either because I'll send Mrs. Vallen after you. Tomorrow, you go socialize. Isabela, Merrill, Sebastian, anyone- just try and start up a convo, ok? Be a seventeen-year-old for a little while."

His look shifted to that of patriarchal concern. "You can't do it all alone Hawke. And you don't have to."

"Socialize. I'm so good at that, just ask my brother." Hawke cringed but eventually nodded when Varric did not say anything else. "Alright, lunch."

She gathered up her belongings and stood with a little stretch. "Thank you, Varric," she began softly. "But I don't mind being alone. I'm not really, anyway. I just... I need to focus on my studies. It's important, and you know what I'm working for. I'll see you in a couple days."

Hawke exited the office without letting Varric remark. She hated talking about her feelings, as if she were supposed to _feel_ something specific. But there was nothing, except resolution.

Hawke would not lose someone. Not again. She would learn and she would provide for her family and find herself in the process and eventually, just maybe, learn a thing or two about Fenris.

* * *

"Hawke!" Merrill called brightly, waving to the lost looking girl clutching two books to her chest.

"I've never seen you in the sunlight before, or at lunch, or break for that matter- you have very pretty hair! That wasn't a strange thing to say, was it? Oh dear..."

Hawke faltered a bit, turning about to find Merrill already fingering a strand of her hair from behind. "I just... I needed some air I guess."

After her less than comfortable discussion with Fenris yesterday, she still felt like she was choking, stifling and she just needed /air/...

Hawke would never show that kind of vulnerability again.

The air was cold and clean, the sky gray, and already she felt better. Even Merrill wasn't bothering her with her ridiculously light voice and chipper curiosity.

"How are you Merrill?" she asked haltingly, smiling in what she was sure was more akin to a grimace.

"Fantastic! A little cold but I like this cardigan far too much to leave it at home all autumn. Would you like to eat with me Hawke? I have some biscuits we could share; my grandmother made them- family recipe!" Merrill finally breathed in and beamed at Hawke expectantly.

Hawke forced the urge to cringe from her mind and instead forced a tight smile. "I'd... Love to. Thanks, Merrill."

She was so, so awkward.

_Socialize, Hawke, make friends, Hawke,_ she mimicked in Varric's voice. _You can't go through life alone, Hawke! Easy for Mr. 'Most Popular Staffer at Kirkwall Academy'. This is stupid..._

"I'm really fine on the biscuits though. I've got... Lunch."

Merrill pursed her lips. "You forgot your lunch didn't you. Don't worry! We can share- look! There's Isabela, come along Hawke!"

With an excited squeal Merrill skipped away, gesturing for Hawke to follow.

Hawke trailed behind, apprehensive of just how the afternoon was going to play out. Even as Merrill skipped and beamed ahead of her, she couldn't bring her thoughts away from her last exchange with Fenris.

_You're right, you shouldn't have._

Hawke chewed her lip. Maybe she had been too hard on him- his eyes just _fell_ as she walked away the day before. She'd never be able to face him, not again, not after that. He was just concerned, or vaguely curious; it didn't mean anything beyond that.

Like always, Hawke was probably blowing all of it out of proportion. Probably.

They sat spread out on a picnic blanket in the commons, all in various lounging positions, laughing at something Zevran had said.

Sebastian was the first to notice her as she followed Merrill cautiously; he stood up quickly and offered his hand stiffly as Hawke approached.

"Hawke, I don't believe we have formally met. I am Sebastian Vael."

Isabela laughed and Zevran smirked at the formal greeting. Merrill tittered around her backpack and fished out a bag brimming with fruit and the promised biscuits.

"Oh Sebby, lighten up- you'll scare the poor girl away," Isabela smirked casually, eating her banana entirely inappropriately.

Hawke smiled uneasily as Merrill pulled her closer to the group. "I'm Hawke," she said a little stiffly. "Nice to meet you all."

Merrill tugged on Hawke's elbow, offering up a biscuit like it was some sort of tribute. "Isabela," she began pityingly, "Hawke forgot her lunch!"

"You always bring extra don't you? I'm afraid fruit and biscuits won't be enough for her. She's so thin." Isabela poked Hawke's arm demonstratively.

Zevran hummed in agreement, turning to face her. "I am Zevran. Zev to my friends, and I very much intend to befriend you, Hawke."

His Italian accent hung in the air, sultry and warm in the cool ocean air.

Before she could form a response to that, Merrill pulled Hawke down to sit on the blanket with them.

A red headed girl sitting cross-legged pulled out a pink lunchbox. "Here," her clear lilting voice contrasted with the Zev's and she handed Hawke half a croissant.

Hawke was almost taken aback by the gestures. How could a group be so accepting of a perfect stranger? They offered her food and smiles and asked for nothing but her name. "Thanks," she said softly, taking the croissant from the redhead.

"It's... I've never seen most of you before. Have you guys been in Latin all year?"

"Oui." The redhead smiled absently.

"It is a fine class, well-taught by Mr. Fenris," Sebastian added, chewing quiet and thoughtfully.

"Oh Sebastian puh-_lease_, it's that yummy Fen that make Latin fine," said Isabela.

Hawke felt a little tug at her lips; it seemed she wasn't the only one intrigued by Fenris in the class. "He... He's interesting," she said finally.

Merrill popped a grape in her mouth before piping in. "Oh he's so gloomy all the time," she said, a little wistful. "I saw him smile once and I just about died. He should do it more often."

Isabela hummed in agreement, mouth enclosed around the banana.

"All of God's creatures deserve happiness."

Zev nodded, while Isabela rolled her eyes. "He is an enigma; one of Kirwall's many mysteries."

"I've only ever seen him with Mrs. Vallen. He looks so very sad when he thinks no one's watching. It's rather romantic don't you think?" Leliana added dreamily.

Zev rolled onto his stomach and crunched into an apple, slinging an arm around Leliana.

"I can't see him wipe that scowl off his face even long enough for a quickie." Isabela added.

Zevran pulled his apple from his mouth and put his chin on his hand. "Neither can I. Perhaps our new friend's charms will affect him more- _noticeably_, eh?"

His grin was feline and mimicked by Isabela perfectly. Hawke nearly choked on her croissant. "Oh, I doubt it," she said, attempting to be light even as her face flared red. "I'm not... I don't even like him."

"Your pretty blush speaks differently, love," Leliana added softly, plump lips smiling just a little.

"Makes you wonder how far those whirling silver tattoos go down," Isabela purred towards Hawke, eyebrows waggling.

Sebastian cleared his throat loudly and the collective group laughed.

"That is a very personal matter, Isabela. He seems...ashamed of them, almost."

Hawke winced slightly. Sebastian was obviously uncomfortable talking about such things, about _Fenris_ no less, and so far he seemed the sanest of them all.

_Including me, _she thought, finishing off her pilfered food.

The rest of lunch was surprisingly pleasant. Her new friends were smart and funny, if incredibly perverse; Isabela especially had an issue with propriety, though she loved to flag it in Sebastian's face. It seemed like only moments had passed when the bell rang.

"We'll see you here tomorrow, right Hawke? And in Latin of course; try not to be late this time," Merrill suggested kindly.

"Yeah... Yeah, I'll be here," Hawke replied.

The rest of them said their farewells and Hawke strode towards Biology just as the sun broke through the dark clouds overhead.

* * *

A/N: I think I finally fixed the formatting! Thank you so much to Imperial-Hawke, Enchanter T.I.M , and cherrychopstix for all the kind words :) I promise there will be more Fawke encounters in the next chapter! Also, thank you everyone for bearing with me; I know there are a lot of strange errors in the text, and most are because I write this on my phone. I have a beta now, however, so I'll be replacing the old chapters as they're edited and the new updates should be much cleaner!


	4. Chapter 4

_A Home_

Carver sat glowering in the passenger seat of the car, arms crossed and a new bruise along his jaw. "Jesus Hawke, I need to get home. _Go_." The traffic getting out of the academy's parking lot was notoriously bad, jammed bumper to bumper after school with little hope of a quick getaway.

Hawke inhaled deeply, letting all the breath out through her nose in a careful exhale. The cars inched along slowly, too, too slowly. Though Carver was more of a prat about it, Hawke was becoming steadily annoyed by the pace as well.

"I really can't affect the tide of traffic, Carver," she said evenly. "Why do you need to get home so badly anyway?"

He huffed, shifting to cross his arms and stare daggers at a car trying to cut ahead of them.

"Mom needs my help."

A car honked, and Hawke slammed on the brakes, catapulting her brother forward.

"God dammit! Hawke what the hell are you doing?"

She grit her teeth. Hawke had been on edge since Latin, where she had refused to look Fenris in the eye all period. Now cars were jumping out at her.

"Hightown housewives need to learn how to signal," she muttered.

When they successfully got out of the parking lot after precious minutes of tentative jolts and slow movement, Hawke headed for Lowtown. "Gamlen can't help her? He could certainly use a break from the whiskey."

Carver let out a snort before his face twisted with familiar anger.

"Gamlen is a bloody idiot. There's no way I'm letting him anywhere near Mom."

His fists clenched, anger radiating from him in waves.

She agreed wholeheartedly with her brother. Gamlen wasn't a bad man, not really, but he was a drunken fool most of the time, who couldn't hold down a job to save his life. And he was a detriment to their mother, in her current state of disarray...

"Don't you have work tonight? You can't be late again; Meeran won't be so lenient like last time if it keeps happening."

"Meeran can bugger off." He simply sat for a moment, grinding his teeth in thought before adding, "Maybe if _you_ had a proper job I wouldn't need to work so often. You don't help her- all you do is brood and do your homework."

Hawke gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. She didn't earn as much as Carver, but it was all she could do to manage her grades and balance tutoring. "I'm doing my best. It's all we can do."

How her life had gotten like this so quickly was a mystery. It was all so wrong, so surreal. She missed Bethany; her sister would have made her feel better.

And her father would have known what to do. _He was the real Hawke, not me._

The traffic picked up and Hawke took a deep breath, sucking in as much resolve as she could.

She knew she'd need it.

* * *

Carver went through the door first, and Hawke followed.

Leandra sat rocking in the living room, which may have once been considered modern, years ago, a Hallmark movie muted in the background. The only sound in the house was the groan of the chair, harsh and deafening in the oppressive silence.

"Hey, Mom," he said, voice as close to soft as it ever was.

Leandra rocked back and forth twice before answering in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Carver," she breathed. Her eyes found his and she smiled, thin face peeling back and limp hair rustling.

Her eyes trailed over to where her daughter stood, half in, half out of the cluttered old room.

For a moment, her dull eyes focused. Leandra's smile turned sad, painfully grieving, and withered slowly.

"Bethany?" The muffled hope in her voice was stinging, as painful as a slap, and suddenly Hawke was choking on the dust motes floating in the air.

Carver swallowed hard and his eyes flickered back to his sister.

"No, Mom," he corrected quietly, kneeling beside her. "Hawke."

Hawke. Her mother hadn't called her by Bethany's name in a long while; she thought that they were all moving on slowly, making minimal but steady progress...

But really they were all stuck, unmoving- still. The creaking of the rocking chair was grating on Hawke's nerves, slowly but surely. Facing Leandra was the last thing she wanted to do- Hawke wished nothing more in that moment than to screw her responsibilities go upstairs, take a bath and shut herself in her room with a distracting romance novel.

Hawke wanted Bethany back. If only it had been herself who had the bad genes, to follow in her father's footsteps... Maybe then her mother wouldn't look at her like that.

"It's me, Mom," she said tiredly. "It's Hawke."

"Where's Bethy?"

Carver and Hawke shared a pained look. It was as close to understanding each other as they'd ever get, these little moments.

"I'll get dinner going later. I have homework."

Hawke trudged up the stairs without a glance backward.

* * *

The weekend came and went, dragging by slowly.

Fenris had been consumed with thoughts of his newest student for the entirety of those days.

He wanted to apologize- he _needed_ to apologize again. As he walked to the bus and sat staring out its window with the other denizens of Lowtown, he cringed at the memories of what he asked and how he'd asked it.

When he finally arrived, Kirkwall Academy loomed beautiful and tall into the sky, a beacon of learning and knowledge, and when he walked in, he couldn't help but wonder if it made everyone feels so very small.

* * *

Fenris had his back to the class, writing out the day's final translation when he heard a familiar voice. He finished and turned to face his students, and was surprised to find Hawke conversing with Sebastian. Of her own free will. _Not about Latin_.

He blinked in surprise but continued on, "Translate the following: 'Flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo.'"

Hawke was actually enjoying a conversation. It was an absolute shock, but it wasn't an unpleasant one. Sebastian was a sweet guy, a little timid but incredibly bright, with a brogue that charmed her and eyes like the sky. They were discussing Isabela and her penchant for the perverse, as their buxom classmate wasn't actually present that day.

Hawke also felt a glow in her chest at knowing Isabela wouldn't mind her friends having a laugh at her expense so long as she was made privy to it later, (or got to smack someone's bum by the end of the day). Hawke couldn't remember the last time she actually _laughed_.

It felt nice.

Fenris' voice alerted her to the work she needed to be doing. "Flectere... I have no idea," she said to Sebastian. "At this rate _I_ might need tutoring for once," she joked miserably.

Sebastian smiled bashfully, blue eyes staring down at the floor before coming to meet Hawke's again.

"If you want, I could go over vocabulary with you." His cheeks turned scarlet and he coughed, obviously trying not to think too hard about the girl next to him.

Fenris watched the exchange with eyes like granite. The way the acolyte stammered and blushed made it very clear how he was feeling, and Hawke's thoughtful smile back at him made something in Fenris' heart jerk.

He wanted to be on the receiving end of that expression.

"Hawke," he snapped. "The answer. I assume you've finished since you are so clearly not translating."

Her smile died and she looked down at her paper and back up at him with wide eyes.

Sebastian whispered, quickly and quietly to Hawke, "_If I cannot move heaven I will raise hell_."

Hawke stared blankly forward for a moment. His voice was curt and his eyes were as stony as ever. He was a total contradiction to the man who demanded she tell him about her personal life, who made her vulnerable and weak.

"I don't know," she said shortly, returning Fenris' glare. "Something about hell?"

"That was an excellent translation Sebastian provided for you. You would do well to use it," he replied icily.

Out of the corner of his eye Fenris saw Sebastian go even redder.

Hawke swallowed hard but kept her nerve. "I'll just have to study harder then, won't I?" she shot back.

The tension in the classroom weighed like a sack of bricks on all their shoulders. Before Hawke and Fenris had a chance to exchange further words, the bell chimed the end of another day. Hawke gathered her bag and made for the door immediately.

"Hawke," Fenris thundered, making the class jump and freeze. "Stay."

The others filed out with pitying glances, all except Sebastian who paused to murmur quietly in her ear, "I'll wait for you outside."

Hawke jerked her head over her shoulder and looked at Fenris. "No," she said to Sebastian. "I might... Be a while. Say hello to Merrill and the others for me."

Sebastian hesitated a moment, looking between his friend and their teacher. With a resigned nod, he moved toward the door.

Fenris stood, fists clenched and eyes like thunderheads.

Hawke dropped her bag to the floor with a solid thump. "Is there something I can do for you, Fenris?" she asked dryly. "I've got to be somewhere. Soon."

He let out an angry huff of breath, though it was not directed at Hawke. This was not how he wanted to be with her, _who_ he wanted to be with her.

Fenris knew the look in her eyes well, the fight or flight fear, the defensive posture.

"Hawke," he sighed. "I want to apologize. For everything. I know not why, but your presence makes me...different."

Hawke stared at him blankly a moment, before a choked, quasi-laugh escaped her. "Is that all?" she sputtered, raking her hand up through her hair and down her neck.

Fenris looked confused by her reaction, and seemed to open his mouth to say something. Hawke didn't particularly want to hear it. "It's nothing. It's not like any of that is a secret anyway. Everyone knows about the tragic Hawkes, their tragic pasts and lives. Now you know my tragic inability to learn Latin too. It comes full circle."

"If it is any consolation, I did not mean to upset you," he stepped towards her, just one small movement, but to Fenris it felt as if he had crossed the world.

Her eyes were locked on his, and he could see how she breathed unevenly.

"I can teach you. Tutor you, if you want."

He approached, just a step, really, but Hawke's heart jumped into her throat anyways. "I... I wasn't upset. Just a bad day. It's nothing."

It wasn't nothing, though. Fenris only scratched the surface of Hawke's wooden heart, but some long forgotten thing came trickling through the top.

Hawke didn't like being so easily taken apart and looked through. Fenris looked at her like a wolf looked at prey, and she wanted to run almost as much as she wanted to stay.

"Sebastian's offered to tutor me. You don't need to bother yourself over it. I'll suck less sooner or later. Anything else?"

She turned to leave, eyes betraying her level tone and belying her assertion that nothing was wrong.

"Wait," he called, as she began to walk away. She didn't stop.

"Hawke, _wait_."

He moved after her and caught her wrist, delicate and hot, pulse jumping other his fingers.

And it didn't burn.

She turned to look at him, eyes wide with surprise and other emotions Fenris could not pick out.

"Allow me to help you," he said softly, still holding her. "Please."

Hawke could only stare. He touched her and it was like being shocked, like her entire existence jolted back to life.

In that moment, something between them shifted. Hawke didn't pull away when Fenris pulled her in slightly. A part of her wanted to, and a part of her didn't, but she was drawn in, closer.

Too close.

"I don't need help," she whispered. "I can do it. I can do it..."

"You need not do it alone."

His voice hung in the air, hung between them like something real and heavy.

He couldn't look away. He couldn't let go. It was wrong by definition on every pamphlet and guide book ever printed about student teacher realtionships- but for the life of him, Fenris did not care.

Fenris was looking at her so intently, speaking to her softly. Hawke was at an absolute loss. It could have been sincere; he could have meant every word.

"Why are you doing this?"

Hawke didn't need to hear the answer- she didn't want to know. She snatched her hand from his like his touch had turned to acid, and made for the outside world, for reality.

Before she exited the room though, she paused at the door. "I... may need the extra help. I'll stay after class next Monday. Maybe."

And with that, she was gone, and Fenris was left once again with an empty class and strange thoughts of the first person in a very long while who had made him feel whole.

* * *

A/N: Still working on the editing! I write most of this on the go on my phone, so unfortunately it's riddled with odd errors. Thanks again to everyone reading :D


	5. Chapter 5

_Actions_

Hawke sighed heavily as she exited room 420. She hated- _hated_ tutoring the de Launcet's spoiled brat, Emile. He was about Carver's age with some serious delusions concerning how attractive he was; if he wasn't butchering his English homework he was always making some ill-fated pass at her.

Hawke had spoken to his mother about it the week prior, only to be passed off as ridiculous with a dollar an hour pay dock. She could have slapped the prissy woman, but she needed her son as a client. If she lost the money at that point, Carver would never let her hear the end of it.

As she walked through the open courtyards of the academy, Hawke took a deep breath and just admired the scenery. The sun had passed its setting point, leaving twilight to color the buildings and the foliage soft purples and blues; when the weather was nice, Kirkwall was a truly stunning place. It let her forget about her dumb tutoring students and their bitching parents, as well as ungrateful siblings and broken mothers.

As she walked under the east building, she looked up and saw a light on. It was room 316, and that could only mean Fenris hadn't gone home yet.

Hawke chewed her lip in consideration. Would going up to see him be appropriate? He wouldn't want to stay even later than he had to. Her fingers itched, and she clasped her bag a little tighter.

She often tried to convince herself that her rabid curiosity about Fenris was justified. Their conversation a few days prior burned in her mind, haunted her morning and night. He was a puzzle to her, a challenge, and Hawke had never been one to deny either of those. Yet there was more. Hawke was concerned for his wellbeing- she wanted to make sure he was alright.

And that was scary.

Firmly regretting the decision the second she made it, Hawke trudged up the stairs to his room.

* * *

Fenris was just opening the next Aggregio when there was a knock on the door. He reached blindly to try and hide the bottle but quickly found he did not care enough to move that far.

Let them find him. Let them come.

This job was by far the best he'd had, but perhaps the administration had finally checked up on his references and degrees, had finally found that his papers were forged. He did not deserve to be here, Fenris did not deserve to be in the same vicinity as people so kind as Varric and Aveline- _and Hawke._ The lost girl who was so like him, so frustrating and enthralling. The things he wanted to do with her, _to_ her, were despicable. She was a child. He was a bitter man with only counterfeit diplomas and a bottle of wine to his name.

Straightening vainly, he swiveled his chair to face the door.

"Open," he rasped.

Hawke opened the door and stepped in, summoning her usual composure. What she saw made her stop in the doorway.

Fenris was sitting at his desk, hunched slightly, with a bottle of wine clutched loosely in his hand and another two bottle strewn haplessly about ungraded papers.

"Fenris," she began slowly, closing the door behind her and approaching his desk. "What are you doing?"

For a moment, he thought he was dreaming. "Hawke?" He croaked, eyes finding hers. The pity he found there was too much, too foreign and baffling. It made him furious and sorrowful all at once in a dizzying combination.

"Of course it's Hawke," he laughed harshly. The girl who so haunted him came only in his most desperate, ugly moments. "I would offer you a drink," he slurred, "but as you can see, I have no cups."

"I'm a little young for all that, but thanks, nonetheless," she said carefully. Hawke approached him slowly, as if he were a wounded predator. The way his typically square shoulders were hunched and his eyes glazed over made him look like just that.

Hawke pulled a chair over to his and sat down. "Funny that I didn't expect this from you. Having a party by yourself?"

He huffed. "Hardly."

Fenris' eyes ran over her, took in the way her eyebrows were drawn together and deduced she felt sorry for him.

"I do not want your sympathy," he said darkly. "Why should you be the first," he muttered, almost to himself. Grasping the bottle by the neck he took a long draught of the sour red wine.

"Go. Tell the administration and you will be free of Latin and myself for the rest of your pretty life." He made a gesture with his arms and stared hard at the table.

Hawke rolled her eyes and stood from her chair. But Fenris caught her eyes, looking at her with eyes that hid more than just a drunkard's stupor as she hesitated between the door and his desk.

Decisively, she snatched the almost empty bottle from his hands.

He grabbed for the wine but she had it in her palm before his ill-fated swipe landed.

"You're never going to get home if you drink yourself bloody stupid," she snapped. "My life wouldn't be much prettier, with or without you making it miserable with Latin. But," she added, "my silence comes with a price."

Hawke read him too well, too easily. Fenris had not wanted her to leave despite his words to the contrary, and she had stayed with naught more than a look. Fenris regarded her, wanting nothing more than to take the bottle in hand and her in his lap. Or maybe the other way around.

His eyes clouded as her words sparked memories buried in shallow graves.

Hawke set the bottle down behind her on the floor. She didn't like drunks; Gamlen was a drunk, and Gamlen was repulsive for the most part. But Gamlen drank for the sake of drinking, and Fenris didn't strike her as the type to frivolously waste alcohol.

He looked like he depended on it, as if it were salvation.

"Speak your offer, then", he said.

"I want to know about you. I want you to tell me how you came to Kirkwall."

He smiled, but there was no mirth.

"I walked."

Fenris watched Hawke still. He could see the gears of that sharp mind turning, chewing over everything she knew of him. Lies, most of it, but perhaps she knew that. He almost hoped she did. Someone should know the truth.

Hawke sighed. Fenris wanted to be difficult; drunks were not known for being easy to speak with, and Fenris was a nightmare to deal with on the most sober of days.

Though, that seemed to be changing now.

"Did you now. Where from?"

His eyes closed. He remembered the journey, the nights and uncertainty and fear. Hawke's eyes asked for more, and the part of him that wanted to tell her everything took hold for a moment.

"Tevinter. And I didn't just walk. I _ran_.

Hawke's eyes softened. _Ran_. From what? Or perhaps….From who?

She wanted to move to him, to offer some kind of comfort. She also knew he wouldn't accept it. Instead, she leaned in slightly. "From someone?"

"From everyone."

His throat tightened and he swallowed hard.

"From her." _Black hair, eyes cruel as ice and nails that dug in and scarred._

"From-" Fenris' voice broke, and he couldn't look at Hawke any longer.

"From him," he breathed into the silent room.

Hawke felt a chill grip her at the way Fenris' tone dropped. "Who were they?" she asked softly. Fenris was too

She didn't need an answer from him to know they had hurt him. /The tattoos.../ she thought, eyes screwing shut in disgust. It all clicked together- the way he loathed them and the haunted look in his eyes-

"Him. The Latin. He made you learn. The tattoos?"

"Yes," he said quietly, hating how his hands trembled and his shoulder shook.

He opened his hands, looked at the white lines and whirls.

"The wine," he rasped. "Please."

"No." Denying Fenris in that moment was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do. It hurt her almost physically the way her heart contracted in her chest.

Fenris was clearly broken, already fallen to pieces. He had only just found the room to breathe, to pick the pieces up and try to put them together.

"He... He did this to you? My God, _why_? Is that legal?"

"No. Y-Yes. Please Hawke," he begged, voice uneven. "Let us speak of this no longer." He couldn't. To think of them was to remember and to remember was to face. And all the while an angel asked him question, eyes grey and merciful and so undeserved by the likes of him.

Hawke sighed in defeat. There was no getting past his inhibitions that evening, but she wasn't going to drop the issue and she certainly wouldn't forget.

Hawke stood and sat on Fenris' desk, shoving the wine bottles to the side. "Look at me," she commanded softly, tilting his chin up with the softest touch she could manage.

He flinched slightly, but let her touch guide him. It was so easy to obey, in his blood perhaps, in his very soul now.

Hawke's face swam in his vision, unfocused. But she was beautiful. Of that he was sure.

"Whatever you're running from now, you're past it. You might never forget it. With those tattoos, it might never happen," she started, watching his eyes flutter, half open.

She was pushing serious boundaries here- she was taking advantage of his intoxication. Even if he didn't remember the night, she felt she had to speak.

She had to.

Hawke picked up an empty bottle with one hand. "This isn't the way forward, Fenris. And... You deserve to move forward. We all do. I can't stand you, but I can't stand seeing you like this and… I'll fight."

She dropped the bottle and leaned in close, too close. "I'll fight for you."

Fenris felt his breath hitch as Hawke came closer. Too close, a part of his mind screamed.

"I do not want anyone to fight for me. Not you."

"Too bad," Hawke replied. "You said I didn't have to do it alone." She pressed her forehead to his briefly, before leaning back. "And neither do you. You don't have to tell me now, but you will."

Fenris nodded dumbly, staring back at Hawke's face, set with a determination he'd come to recognize.

"Gratias tibi ago, meum Hawke," he murmured, leaning in as she leaned away, wishing to relish in her warmth as long as he could.

Hawke's face flushed with color; even when inebriated Fenris had a way with words. She could have leaned in and kissed him- they were close. Hawke looked down at his lips, full, frames by two white lines of his intricate tattoos. They were stained from his wine and parted; she could feel his breath and it drew her closer.

Just one kiss... He probably wouldn't have remembered.

Instead, she pressed her lips to his brow before withdrawing completely. "You're coming home with me. There's no way you can drive tonight."

"I live too far away," He slurred. "Not safe for you to drive along the coast at night."

He started to rise but stumbled, knocking over his papers. Fenris tried to gather up the bottles but they seemed to roll out of his reach one by one, mocking him.

"No, no," Hawke shoved her shoulder under his arm and helped him to his feet. "Me. My house. Now. I don't know where you live and you're too drunk to give me directions. And I won't have you sleeping in the school."

Fenris watched with bleary eyes as Hawke straightened the room, piling his papers neatly and righting the over turned chair. She tucked the wine bottles in his bag and shouldered it, despite his protests.

She didn't give him time to argue, pulling him and her bag out of the classroom. It took a few minutes to find his keys and lock everything up, but when she did, they were off and on their way.

Luckily, or, luckily enough, Fenris' car was still not in working condition, so by the time they locked up there was nothing left to frame him. She helped him down to the parking lot and to her little car.

Hawke's car was small but clean, immaculate even. It smelled of roses, he noted absently.

Sitting in her car he shifted uncomfortably. "I cannot stay with you," he murmured. "Inappropriate."

Hawke laughed dryly. "We passed the point of propriety a few miles back." She put the keys in the ignition of her 2004 Saab and started the engine.

Fenris grumbled at her but didn't protest, even when she pulled out of the lot. Hawke shot him a pitying glance. "Three bottles, Fenris. I do not envy the hangover in store for you. But you totally deserve it, daft man. Is drinking at school a habit? How do you even get home at night?"

"Not normally," he conceded.

It was fully dark now, but even with the low lighting Fenris could see the wrethced neighborhoods Hawke drove through. _Darktown_. The place was infamous for its gangs, drugs, and human trafficking, and that Hawke drove so casually through one of the most dangerous places in the country worried Fenris.

"De fumo in flammam," he said quietly.

Thankfully, they drove out of Darktown and into Lowtown, the place where the working poor often resided. At least here the whores did not walk so openly.

Hawke heard Fenris' slurred Latin but didn't pay it any more attention than she could afford. She hated driving through Darktown; on the better nights, it would be a quiet drive through a decaying neighborhood. On the worse ones, intimidating people would leer and approach her car at stop lights and intersections, banging on the windows and yelling.

She wasn't much better off than any of them, but she felt she couldn't relate. Hawke was ashamed to admit she was scared of them, and the city she lived in.

They finally pulled up to her shabby house. "Home sweet home," she said blandly. "Carver should be at the gym and mother should be asleep. Gamlen is out drinking. Follow me and be very quiet, alright?"

He nodded, stumbling after her. The townhouse was falling down, paint peeling and grass dying. Still, he noticed as he walked through the metal door that there was a small pot of flowers growing. Hawke's work, he would venture to guess.

He was quiet, following Hawke till she stopped and he practically collided with her.

"Sorry," he mumbled to her shoulder.

Hawke grunted when Fenris crashed into her. They made a small ruckus on the porch, but luckily enough Leandra had some pretty heavy narcotics prescribed. She wouldn't wake up for anything for at least ten hours.

She noticed that Fenris hesitated behind her, not moving away. The hand balanced on her waist to steady himself tightened a fraction, and he breathed heavily into her neck, as if smelling her hair.

Drunk Fenris was a bit of a pervert, she realized.

Hawke's heart hammered and she swallowed thickly. "You're fine," she said weakly. "Just... I'll get my keys."

After some fiddling at the door, Hawke managed to drag Fenris inside. The house was dark, and Hawke was grateful Fenris couldn't see the peeling wallpaper and carpet space.

"My bed room's through that door. Sit on the bed."

They walked through the door to Hawke's room.

It was sparsely furnished with just a desk, bed, and wardrobe, everything feminine and simple.

Fenris opted to sit on the floor instead. He was more comfortable on the dark carpet than he would be on Hawke's bed.

"No," he protested. "I will be content here."

Fenris was curled on the floor against her bed. Hawke flipped on the light to see him hunched over his knees.

"Oh no, up we go," she insisted, pulling Fenris up by his elbow. "You get the bed. You're the... Sick one. Just lie down, alright?"

Fenris tripped as Hawke tried to pull him up.

As he tumbled onto the bed he grasped Hawke's arm, pulling her down with him.

Instead of pushing her away like a sane person, he nuzzled, cuddling into her. She was so warm and _soft-_

"Fenris." Her teacher ignored her, instead gripping her close to his chest and burying his face in her hair. "What was that about not being appropriate?" she asked, trying to dislodge Fenris from around her.

It felt good. His arms around her, tightly, like he needed her close just to keep breathing. Hawke didn't want to move, but this was really going too far.

Fenris realized exactly what- or more particularly, _who_ he was clinging on to and released his hold as fast as he could.

"Ignosce mihi," he offered immediately. "The floor, I should be on the floor."

Hawke stood up, trying to reign in the stupid blush on her face and her run-away heartbeat. "No," she repeated, straightening her uniform vainly.

She began to work at his shoes, pulling them off one at a time. He wore thick socks, and, to her surprise, they weren't black.

They were red.

Hawke smiled a little. "I'm getting you some water and then you're going to sleep." She bent over and brushed his hair from his eyes, silently praying he wouldn't remember anything tomorrow but too caught up in the moment to truly worry. "No buts. You'll be good as new tomorrow and I'll give you a sound thrashing then."

He nodded, too tired to try and convince her otherwise. Fenris knew in the back of his mind he would have to deal with the horrifying consequences sometime, but tomorrow would be another day.

A thought struck him suddenly.

"Where will you sleep?"

Hawke slipped off her shoes and looked around the room a moment. "The floor. I have sleeping bags and fluffy pillows."

Fenris was barely coherent. She sat at his bedside and nestled him under the blankets. "Just sleep now. I'll get you up for school."

More protesting was simply met with more resistance. It seems Hawke would be taking the floor regardless of what he said.

"Thank you," he murmured sincerely. "For everything."

His last thought before sleep took him was how much he owed his Hawke, and how little he had to return to her.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I finally finished my last midterm so updates should be more regular now (until finals, at least). Thank you to brookeellen4, cherrychopstix, thesuicideclub, Kara-Meir, Enchanter T.I.M, Imperial-Hawke and Jane-Alenko for all of the support :)


	6. Chapter 6

_Reactions_

Hawke awoke to the sound of her phone, the alarm setting muffled as it rang and vibrated from under her stomach. Blearily she turned over and snuggled back into the warmth next to her.

When arms encircled her and drew her in closer, her eyes snapped open.

_Shit_.

How the hell did she end up in bed with Fenris? She looked over onto the floor; her old camp sleeping bag and ratty pillows were very present and slept in, but Hawke wasn't in them. It was possible she had gotten up in the night, and simply fell back into her own bed...

_Thank the Maker Fenris is asleep. I might never live this down_.

A very large part of Hawke's sleepy brain wanted her to stay pressed into Fenris for the rest of forever. But she had crossed too many boundaries as it was- she should be thankful for Fenris' unconsciousness and move out of his grip entirely.

Hawke separated herself from his arms as gently as possible, moving from the bed slowly and slipping into the bathroom.

Fenris groaned as he woke, head pounding and eyes straining as light poured through a window. A _single_ window.

He jolted up, mind and body suddenly on high alert. His eyes darted around the room, taking in each detail. The previous night came back to him slowly and in pieces. Hawke had found him. Hawke had driven him home. Hawke had taken his shoes off.

He stood shakily, head spinning and pounding as he tried to make sense of the bright light spilling into the room.

Hawke returned from the room with her toothbrush dangling from her mouth. Fenris was shakily attempting to make a stand from her bed, and she sat him down immediately. "Morning sunshine," she mumbled around her toothbrush.

Fenris only groaned at her, clutching his head. Hawke went to her desk and retrieved a glass of water and aspirin. "Drink, take these. Don't move so quickly."

Fenris looked at Hawke. He was in her house. He remembered her arranging covers and taking off his shoes. The bed was warm and rumpled in a way only two people could make it.

_No_.

"Hawke," he started slowly. "Tell me we didn't... We didn't-"

Hawke returned from the bathroom with her hands up. "Easy. No, you were pretty toasted last night. There was a bit of profuse vomiting on your end, in the middle of the night, and that kind of put me out of the mood."

She snorted as Fenris stared at her uncomprehendingly. "Joke, Fenris. It was a joke. I hope you learned a lesson though, from all this."

Fenris ignored the jibe, breathing a sigh of relief that he had only done something overwhelmingly immoral- not illegal. Straightening, he looked At Hawke.

"I thank you for the assistance. I will take the nearest bus from here."

Hawke raised her eyebrows. Fenris was apparently back to his old sober self. She was glad that he felt better, even if he wasn't as... Gentle as before. That wasn't the right word- unguarded?

Now his walls were up, and his eyes were black with distrust.

"That's it? Why don't I just take you to school?"

"I do not think that would be appropriate."

He took the pain relievers and water she offered then, swallowing gratefully. He tried gamely to avoid staring at Hawke, who was clad only in a robe. Fenris was certain that if Aveline caught wind of this, his body would be found in the sea by the next new moon.

Hawke crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe of her room. "Oh, I understand. It's obviously less appropriate than sleeping drunk in my house. How silly of me."

She whisked about the room, past Fenris and to her closet. She bent at the waist to retrieve a fallen uniform skirt and a freshly starched shirt. "You'll be late if you try and catch the bus out of Darktown."

There was some patron god of professionalism laughing heartily at him. Fenris knew it.

Hawke bent _down_ and the robe rode _up_ and a good majority of the bottom half of her was prominently displayed through the silky fabric.

He coughed and turned around, staring at the wall intently.

"It seems there is no other option then," he stammered out.

Hawke stood straight and offered Fenris a half smile. It fell when Fenris' eyes slipped from hers, down her body and away.

She cleared her throat. "Good. I'm going to get dressed and then see about breakfast. You need something to soak up all the wine- I'll just... Go and get dressed."

Fenris nodded before slipping out of the room, busying himself with not thinking of Hawke.

In the light of early morning the flaws of the house were evident. Peeling paint, a leaky sink, a faded couch- it was all neat but in evident disrepair.

The place was silent as well, eerily so for a house with two teenagers.

Hawke watched Fenris sneak into the hall, taking in Gamlen's house with a calculated scan.

She hated this place. If Hawke had it her way, they would have never turned to Gamlen after Malcom had passed away, but Leandra was in no shape to get a job and they had nowhere else to go.

She wanted to get her family somewhere better, somewhere she could be proud of- somewhere her father and sister would be proud of.

Hawke buttoned up her shirt and smoothed it into her skirt. She looked in the mirror; a thin, tired, sad little girl stared back at her. The day loomed out before her- she had school and tutoring and _Latin_ to get through.

Her mother wouldn't do much of anything before noon and Carver would piss all over her attempts at bringing the family back together. If Gamlen came back that day at all, Hawke didn't want to be home.

And she had a hungover teacher in her living room who needed feeding. It was best Fenris didn't know of her family woes, even if he had coerced her into spilling the secrets of her past. But after last night, perhaps they were even.

Steeling herself, she walked to the kitchen. "I'm making you coffee and some eggs and toast. Hangover cure extraordinaire- my uncle could tell you, anyway."

He jumped slightly, turning to face a now (thankfully) fully-dressed Hawke.

"Thank you," he murmured, deciding to pick his battles. Besides, being made breakfast was hardly something worth fighting over.

He sat at the rickety card table-turned-dining table on a stained folding chair.

"Where is your brother?"

Hawke set a pot under the shabby but reliable family coffee maker and tapped in her favorite grounds. "Carver has practice in the mornings. You know coach Aveline, she's fond of pre-class laps and stuff."

After a couple minutes, Hawke had a few eggs scrambled and four pieces of bread toasted brown (one of them was scorched, as their toaster was a fire hazard at best). She set a plate down in front of Fenris and brought a couple mismatched mugs for coffee. "Black?"

"Please."

He looked down at the plate before him. A stab of guilt shot through Fenris; it was unfair that he should be fed when Hawke's family obviously had so little to spare.

"Thank you," he said sincerely as Hawke sat across from him.

"She is an outstanding woman, Coach Vallen," Fenris offered. Not his strongest conversation topic, but he felt he owed Hawke this, at the very least. "Kirkwall is lucky to have one such as she."

Hawke smiled a little at that, pushing her eggs around with her picnic fork. "She really is. I... I haven't spoken to her in a while. I should really do it more."

Hawke hadn't spoken to Aveline since her sister died. She was at the funeral, and she was at school as an ever present figure. Hawke could talk to her, and she knew Aveline would be waiting for her.

But she didn't _want_ to go to her. Too much history, she was too close to everything as it happened. It was easier to keep moving past, with blinders on and heart hard.

"Sorry if the eggs are rubbery. I'm not a great cook- actually, Carver does more of the cooking around here. He's pretty good."

"They are very good," he only half-lied, taking a sip of the coffee.

Hawke looked nervous, embarrassed perhaps. The house was obviously held together by the enigmatic sister.

"Thank you again for all of this. I owe you."

Hawke took a sip of her coffee. "You do owe me. You can start by never doing that again," she said seriously. "Any of it. You're going to destroy yourself."

Fenris' eyes narrowed, but Hawke pressed on. "And sooner or later, I'm going to get some answers."

He regarded Hawke for a moment, then. Fenris had heard tales of her uncle and could deduced how she must feel about drunkards. _And I am now included in those ranks_. It was strange that the thought pained him.

"It would be unwise," he grunted.

Hawke met Fenris stare for stare.

"You're past the point of common sense, I think," she said quietly. "And I think you're heading down a dangerous path. From what I understand, you're running from the fire straight into hell."

Fenris' lips tightened. He could not remember much of last night's conversations, but he did fear he had said too much. Far, far too much.

"I was thoroughly inebriated last night. Anything you heard was as likely a lie as truth."

Hawke pushed her half eaten plate away from her in exasperation. "This isn't fair," she said lowly.

It sounded childish, even in her own head- petulant and immature but it just was not fair. Fenris knew about her, took that information and used it at her most vulnerable.

She just wanted to help him, though – despite everything – and she didn't know _why._

"I don't mean you any harm. But you have a problem- several, problems. I only want to help."

His hands tightened on the mug. He had said too much.

Fenris nodded, trying vainly to relax. "We should . . . move on. Put last night behind us."

Hawke's face fell a fraction, betraying the stab of pain in her gut. It shouldn't have bothered her, last semester it wouldn't have. But now she couldn't leave the situation as it was.

_I'll fight for you, Fenris._

Hawke didn't speak again. She stood from the table, plates in hand, and as she turned her back on Fenris she could feel the weight of his stare.

"Your things are still in the car. Let's go."

* * *

They left the house without incident.

The last thing Fenris saw when Hawke triple locked the door was a picture of five people standing together and laughing, dark haired all of them. Fenris looked away quickly, feeling as if he'd seen something he should not have.

Before they left the house he made sure to toss the empty bottles in the recycling bin.

Driving through Darktown and Lowtown in the morning was hardly better than at night. The hazy sunshine only cast to light the squalor of the place.

Fenris scowled at anyone who looked even twice at Hawke, touching the place where his gun would have been.

Aside from a few encounters with locals and an uncomfortable silence dampened only by a static-y radio talk show, the ride went quickly.

Hawke pulled into the far back corner of the student parking lot, away from the shining Mercedes and BMWs.

She stepped out of her car and locked it. It always took a few tries to get the door to cooperate (and she'd set the car alarm off twice in the last month on accident). Fenris stood by silently, as if standing guard.

She shouldered her backpack and glanced at her teacher briefly. "Well, er…I'll see you in class."

Hawke walked away first, refusing to look back over her shoulder. The strange night was over at last, and she felt no better now than yesterday.

As she turned a corner onto the wide student courtyard, she nearly collided with another student. He was tall and fit, with light hair and dark eyes and a simple earing that almost reminded her of Varric.

"Excuse me," she apologized. "I didn't see you there."

He smiled, brown eyes warm.

"No, no. It was my fault." He bent to pick up the papers that had fallen from his half-opened notebook.

"You're Hawke right? We have AP Biology together. And Latin now, correct?"

"I... Yeah." Hawke took her notebook back. His smile was bright, and she was charmed despite herself. "I recognize you. You're pretty quiet in class. Not in Bio, but um... Latin. Sorry, I tend to have my head down a lot."

He only laughed, falling in step and walking beside her through the commons and the cold morning air.

The sea crashed beside them and birds cried.

"And you're pretty quiet all the time. In all the time we've had class I don't think I've ever heard you speak," he joked lightly. "Can't blame you though, Latin is a waste of time. Frivolous," he said, almost bitterly.

Hawke laughed uneasily. "I don't have cause to talk much. So much studying, and teachers really prefer students to be seen and not heard. Isabela does enough talking for all of us."

They made their way toward the language building, stopping at the door as the bell rang out the passing period. "I have to go to Calculus now, but I'll see you in Bio," he offered amiably. Hawke tried to fathom the promise in his voice, and came up with nothing.

She turned then, "I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

He smiled extending his hand. Hawke took and shook it tentatively.

"Anders."


End file.
